


he shoots, he scores

by hearteyesfordays



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bittersweet, Hockey, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearteyesfordays/pseuds/hearteyesfordays
Summary: Five cellys with Parse, and one without.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	he shoots, he scores

  
  
“One more.”

“Last try. You've been at this all damn day.” Parse is exaggerating, but only just. 

Jack narrows his eyes and shoots. The puck ricochets off the glass, bounces up along the boards, and rolls down the ice on its edge. Directly into the opposite goal.

Parse's jaw drops.  
  


***

“I'm telling you: Pelletier's gonna cheat to his right. You'll have a clean shot at the net.”

Jack's not so sure.

“ _Zimms_. Trust me.”

Pelletier cheats to his right. Jack gets a clean shot at the net. And scores.

He doesn't feel bad about the facewash. Parse had it coming.  
  


***

The play's a work of art, puck snapping crisply from tape to tape. Blue line, circle, and then Jack winds up and sends it home.

It's a shame; Parse won't even get an assist for it. Jack points at him anyway. He made the whole thing happen. Anyone could see.  
  
  


***

Time's running out, but Jack keeps his head down and skates. Parse'll get him the puck.

Parse slings his arm around Jack's neck in the locker room. “Let's hear it for our fucking beaut of a captain!” he shouts. “That's what, four hattys this month?”

It's three. But who's counting?  
  


***

It's in.

They did it. They won the Memorial Cup. Jack blinks, and the bench clears, everyone screaming. Parse is laughing crazily, his breath warm against Jack's skin.

Jack's still clutching his stick. He drops it and clutches at Parse instead, lets the crush of bodies press them closer together.  
  
  


***

Jack's first game as a Wellie, something clicks back into place. It's easy to slip past Morrison's guard, easier to put the puck in the net. Hockey never left him after all.

Jack drops down on the bench and aims a grin to his left without thinking.

His shoulder's cold.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
